Psyched
by 2ofacrime24
Summary: Psych-fusion AU. Stiles is a fake psychic detective who just so happens to have a thing for the sour-tempered head detective of the BHPD, Derek Hale. When a new case hits a little too close to home for Derek, Stiles is determined to catch the culprit and perhaps win the detective's affection while he's at it. Updates every other Sunday.
1. The Body

To say that Stiles never thought he'd end up a psychic consultant for the police department his father had once been the sheriff of would be an understatement. In fact having anything to do with the BHPD had been one of the very last things Stiles had ever wanted to do, except on threat of death. Threat of charges for obstruction of justice, perjury, and guaranteed jail time even knowing who his father was however had apparently been plenty enough reason for Stiles to throw out that line of thinking and agree to the new sheriff of the BHPD, Lydia Martin, when she mentioned using his "unusual skills" (quotations heavily implied) and Stiles found himself often called into the precinct to figure out another case that stumped the detectives there.

He still wasn't quite sure how he had convinced his father to go along with the ruse when Lydia had given him a call to confirm when Stiles' abilities had first manifested. He thought it might have been a mix of guilt for forcing Stiles to notice every damn thing and train him into the best cop/detective after his mother's untimely death as well as the desire to keep Stiles in Beacon Hills longer than the annual two hour visit for dinner at the town's one and only diner for his Dad's birthday before he jetted off in his jeep to explore the greater part of mid-western America.

Scott had been easy enough to persuade. Adventure and the opportunity to play the favorite childhood game for real had been plenty of fodder for Scott to beg his boss for a more flexible schedule that guaranteed more time for him to come out into the field with Stiles and help him keep up the charade of being a bonafide psychic. The added bonus of working with detective Allison Argent was simply the cherry on top of the giant ice cream sunday that was their new and totally improved, awesome job.

Stiles, with the grudging help of his father, the over-exuberant help of his best friend, his eidetic memory, and sweet observation skills, found it pretty easy to convince the entire BHPD (okay, most of the BHPD, Stiles was pretty sure that the sheriff and Allison as well as one or two of the other detectives were more skeptical but willing to overlook it due to his high success rate) of his paranormal gift. There was however one exception, one person that just refused to buy into the idea that Stiles got a lot of his answers from the great beyond and that was with the youngest head detective the BHPD ever had, Derek Hale. It probably didn't help that when Derek had been a rookie cop, originally charged with traffic violations and stopping by the local high school when students got a bit too rowdy, he had been taken under his father's wing and mentored by the man who would make Stiles list how many woman were wearing rings and what type of rings they were in a restaurant before letting him have dessert.

Derek had been around for too many family dinners when Stiles was in high school, had watched him go through freaking puberty with a horribly obvious crush on the young police officer, to really believe that his mystic powers had all of a sudden manifested when he was eighteen, after he had taken off in his mother's old jeep without a look back and barely even a call over the next ten years. To say that Derek didn't like Stiles was an understatement. Stiles wasn't a big fan of the sour-faced detective either though Stiles could easily admit that he did still spend some time thinking about that face while in the shower.

So maybe Stiles spent a little too much time trying to push the detective's buttons while working together on a case, took a little too much joy in showing him up and making him feel like an idiot when Stiles caught the bad guy once again with the superior skills he possessed though no one really knew that's what they were. Derek was so easily riled up and maybe Stiles had a bit too much fun in making the detective growl and push him up against walls when his anger and frustration simply couldn't be contained. Stiles maybe liked the pushing (and consequent fondling) a little too much as well.

Still he had fun doing what he did, got a sense of joy and accomplishment in catching the bad guys and making Beacon Hills just a little bit a safer for it's inhabitants. He liked being home; found he had missed seeing Scott and his father everyday. He liked knowing that he had a steady income of checks from the BHPD plus the small private detective agency he had set up with Scott. He liked knowing he had a bed, a roof over his head, and food in his cupboard. He didn't miss the constant moving around, only having a duffle bag of personal items that spent more time in the trunk of his jeep than any other place. He liked the weekly dinners with his dad though he could do without the constant fighting over what the older man should eat in difference to his health. He even liked when his dad got on his case about pretending to be a psychic, about how he should be proud that he scored a perfect score on the detectives test when he was just sixteen and that he should have gone to the academy and became a real detective instead of playing pretend at being one.

Stiles would happily admit that he had a great life, that it had gotten a lot better since that fateful day when he had been called into the precinct by Derek Hale who had been under the impression that Stiles had become a petty thief in the ten years he had been away from Beacon Hills instead of just a hyper observant who had a thing for watching the seven o'clock news and calling in anonymous tips. If he could convince Derek Hale of his psychic awesomeness, Stiles was sure that it would become that much better.

The day had been shaping up to be a pretty good one when Stiles finally made his way into the Beacon Hills PD that afternoon. He had woken up to find that his one night stand had kindly vacated the premises of his apartment without taking anything or leaving anything behind, had made some banging pumpkin spice pancakes and turkey bacon for himself and his father after stopping by the ex-sheriff's house for breakfast, and his first appointment at the _Psych_ office had been easily solved the moment his client stepped in the door, putting a fresh four hundred dollars in his bank account for the consultation.

No one had called him or requested his presence at the precinct but Stiles had found in the past that a majority of the cases the BHPD ended up sending his way were ones that he had wormed his way into much to the anger and chagrin of the Head Detective. He also found that the method added just a bit more street cred around the station when it came to his psychic gift, as if the spirits had led him to where he needed to be. He bounded into the station with his usual pomp and stance, taking care to stop by Heather, the secretary's desk to flirt and wow with whatever psychic observations he could make. She giggled and twirled her pretty golden curls around her finger leaning forward to show off her impeccable bosom in a silk blue top that probably went against uniform regulation. Stiles grinned widely and made sure Heather felt like the prettiest girl at the ball before he flounced off towards the clutter of detectives desk to scope out a new case. Heather waved him off with a smile and a blush, returning to her work a little bit happier than before.

Stiles nodded at the few detectives he passed and made sure to stop and joke around with Greenberg for a few minutes before he stealthily sunk down into Head Detective Derek Hale's desk chair. Hale's desk was pristine, free of any clutter and personal artifacts like family photos and desk charms. Stiles supposed he could understand the need for organization despite what his appearance often hinted at but the idea of not having at least one thing to cheer him up after a long hard day at the office had Stiles often leaving some small token behind. A pineapple, a little wolf figurine he happened upon at an antiques shop, a picture of his dad scowling in his old sheriff's uniform, arms crossed and lips pinched in annoyance as Stiles tried, and failed, to make him laugh for the picture having been ambushed at a crime scene. Stiles left behind tons of little things but they were never there when he returned and Stiles had no idea when the detective did with them but that never stopped Stiles from trying. He pulled out the small snow globe from his pocket and gave it a little shake before placing it neatly on the detective's desk, right next to monitor where he wouldn't miss it.

Stiles then took it upon himself to snoop through the neatly stacked pile of case files, skimming through the documents and shuffling through to the next when the case looked too simple; though he made sure to remember the perps for each one just in case Hale didn't get them on the first try. He sighed when it became apparent there were simply no interesting and high priority cases sitting in Hale's docket and he placed them back with gentle care, making sure they were in perfect order before leaning back in the desk chair and swiveling from side to side. He looked over at Allison's desk and smiled at the clutter, pictures and little trinkets taking up any open space not needed by the computer or case files she had spread across her desk calendar. Knowing Hale, she probably only had petty crime and small disturbances.

Stiles tapped his fingers on the armrests, pursing his lips as he looked around the mostly empty precinct, his brow furrowing in thought. The sheriff's office was notably empty. He pushed himself up out of the seat, sending it wheeling backwards into a file cabinet with a small clang before he bounded up to Greenberg and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Hey Greenberg, where is everyone?"

"Most likely at the crime scene," Greenberg replied with a slight frown, nodding as he did so. Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes and managed but just barely, his smile going a little tight.

"Do you know where?" he asked after a moment of silence and starring at the young cop. Greenberg grinned and nodded, happy to smile along with Stiles without actually giving a verbal answer. Stiles raised his eyebrows in prodding and Greenberg luckily caught on, jerking slightly under Stiles' arm. "Oh! You want to know where!" Stiles nodded. "They're over in the preserve, about two miles in from the trail start at Centennial Park."

"Thanks buddy!" Stiles exclaimed, clapping Greenberg once on the shoulder.

"No problem! Someone apparently found a body while jogging this morning and called it in like an hour ago. I was supposed to go, you know and make sure no one enters the trail but Hale made me stay behind." Stiles frowned in sympathy and patted him once more on the back.

"I'm sorry to hear that man, he can be a real dick. Trust me, I know." Greenberg nodded emphatically, his own brows furrowed in anger. "Don't worry though, karma has a way of evening things out." Greenberg frowned in confusion and Stiles heaved a sigh. "The spirits, Greenberg," Stiles continued with a wave of his fingers. "They let me know these things. I promise you Hale will end up getting what he deserves."

"Yeah, like someone making him upload all the old case files from the basement onto the new server in the dark for hours on end with no help." Stiles lifted an eyebrow in response, his lips curling upwards and a laugh threatening to burst from him at the pout on Greenberg's face.

"Yeah dude, just like that." Greenberg nodded once and gave a loud 'humph' before he stalked away. Stiles shrugged his shoulders and dug his phone from his pocket, hitting Scott's number from his home screen. "Hey buddy," he grinned when Scott answered. "Meet me at the preserve trail over at Centennial Park in five. Wear your hiking boots! We got us a case!"

Scott pulled up on his old dirt bike shortly after Stiles parked his jeep, pulling off the helmet and giving his head a small shake as if to fix a shaggy mane of hair that hadn't existed since they were fifteen. Stiles grinned and wrapped an arm around his best friend's shoulders, giving one a loud clap as he began to lead him into the woods. "So what's up? Did the Sheriff really call us in on a case?" Stiles waved his free hand and started up the trail.

"Apparently a body was discovered early this morning by a couple of joggers. Police got up here early to secure the crime scene and hopefully find some evidence." Scott nodded and pressed his lips together as Stiles scanned the trees, trying to make out any signs or tells of what could have happened though he doubted he would find anything so far from the body.

"Okay but you still didn't answer my question. Did Lydia Martin call us in?" Scott huffed. Stiles gave a small shrug and a sheepish grin. "Stiles! I actually have work to do and Isaac isn't going to keep covering my shifts if he finds out that we aren't actually on a case!"

"Chill dude!" Stiles sighed, giving Scott's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "You know we're on this case, even if it isn't official yet. Just like last time and the time before that." Scott rolled his eyes and his shoulder out from under Stiles' arm.

"One day we won't and you'll get us kicked out or worse arrested for something like aiding and abetting criminals." Stiles raised an eyebrow as Scott stopped in the middle of the trail, leaves crunching loudly underneath his sneakers at the sudden weight. "I'm serious! Hale will arrest you Stiles and he'll arrest me too and then Allison will never go out with me." Stiles scoffed and shook his head, nudging Scott's shoulder with his own as he continued on.

"Nice to know where your loyalties lie." Scott frowned and followed him up the hill and deeper into the preserve. "Derek isn't going to arrest us. Nothing bad is going to happen. We're going to check out the crime scene, find some clues which the detectives will obviously have missed, solve a gruesome murder, show up Hale, and make Allison fall helplessly in love with you. It'll be a piece of cake!" Scott's deepening frown only served to remind Stiles how much his best friend didn't believe him though he didn't contradict him either and a moment later his frown had morphed into a dopey grin and his eyes had gone slightly glazed, most likely at the thought of Allison. Her named tended to trigger the same reaction most often than not.

Stiles and Scott hiked into the preserve, the trail changing from paved tar to gravel and finally dirt the farther they went. Stiles noted the foliage, the turning colors of leaves and the abundance of dead ones that still littered the ground from years past. A rustle from a little ways off to the side gave way to a fox weaving through out the trees as Stiles scanned the area, trying to find something out of place. The Centennial Park entrance was the closest one in location to the body so it made sense that the murderer either moved the body from there or killed the person on sight. The only other possible option was the old, decrepit Hale house which was located two miles from the opposite side of the crime scene and Stiles highly doubted anyone had come from there.

The Hale house was fenced off due to the structure's instability though Stiles knew that the abandoned house was often used as a place for local teenagers to engage in foolish acts such as getting high, or getting laid, or even his personal favorite, over-night scare dares which often resulted in youths running away in terror into the night. Stiles had never done anything like that, had preferred to keep away from the building that held so many painful memories for the Head Detective, then rookie cop whom his dad had taken a shining too, out of respect. He remembered his dad being called in the middle of the night to rescue kids and pre-teens from the building and the woods that surrounded it. He also remembered being eight and being woken up in the middle of the night to his dad crying and smelling of smoke as he hugged him tight. He remembered the headlines, prominent Beacon Hills family of ten dies in tragic accidental fire, only three survived; one survivor in a coma and suffering from severe burns. Stiles hated the idea of anyone being near the house probably as much as Derek Hale himself.

Laura Hale still owned the property and Stiles had heard rumors of her returning to Beacon Hills from New York to tear down the house and rebuild something new in it's place but in the eighteen years since the fire no such thing had happened.

They soon came upon the crime scene, trees strung with yellow tape as detectives and lab techs moved about the area, trying to gather as much evidence and information a possible. Leaves and the few detectives milling around obscured the body. One tech was crouched down and taking swabs from the victim's fingernails and another was perched on the balls of their feet a few spaces away collecting samples of leaves that probably had blood spatter. Detective Hale and Sherriff Martin were missing from the scene but Junior Detective Allison Argent was gazing down at the body with her hand over her mouth and her eyes tinted red.

Scott's gagged at the sight and stumbled backwards into a tree, announcing their presence. Allison turned around a wiped hastily at her eyes, sniffling softly as she approached. "What are you two doing her? We didn't call you in." Scott bowed his head slightly, frowning as he reached out to comfort her. She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted out of reach.

"Heard there was a body and you know how I can't resist a good body," Stiles joked, rocking back and forth on his feet. Allison's stare narrowed and she shook her head, her lips thinned and not breaking out into a fond, exasperated smile as usual. Stiles' grin dropped. "Why do I get the feeling this is not a good case?"

"When is a murder ever a good case?" she sighed and Stiles clamped his mouth shut against his automatic reply. Scott shifted uncomfortably next to him.

"Where's Hale?" Stiles asked and Allison looked off to her left, Stiles following her gaze. He was able to make out the back of Derek Hale, standing stiffly between a couple trees a little ways off, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Lydia stood in front of him, her gestures tight and her lips thinned as she talked to him, argued with him. Derek shook his head and returned fire, his own movements barely containing the anger and violence in him. Stiles turned back to Allison, his frown deepening. "Who was it?" he whispered, suddenly fearful of the answer. Allison took a deep breath before she replied.

"It's Laura, Stiles. Laura Hale." Stiles' eyes widened and he turned back to look at Derek, at the defeated slope of his shoulders, the tense hold of his arms and hands. Last he had heard Laura was married and living happily with her husband of five years and two year old daughter, Cora after her deceased younger sister, in New York. He remembered the cheery, ridiculous Christmas cards and care packaged full of baked goods and tourist trinkets from the Big Apple sent to both Derek and his father. He remembered her loud laugh over the phone, the teasing of his crush on her baby brother and to Derek's person, and the promises she would pull from the surly head detective to get out, have fun, and actually visit her once in a while.

Stiles couldn't help the sting that welled up in his eyes, the sharp intake of breath, before he clamped down on his want to rend and cry and panic at the loss. He was no good to anyone like that. Scott sniffled next to him and Allison finally allowed him to pull her into a hug. Stiles turned his gaze once more to the body of Laura Hale, finally placing the dark hair fanned out, her face turned away, the bruising that ringed her delicate wrists, and the blood that stood out dark against her pale flesh, and vowed to catch her killer no matter the cost.

Stiles and Scott were officially called onto the case about twenty minutes later, after the Sheriff had dismissed the Head Detective and called his partner over to ensure his straight return to the BHPD. Stiles had only ever seen Lydia Martin look frazzled once and that had been back in high school when her lab partner had accidently gotten sick all over her. Her hair was still perfectly in place, face made up to perfection, and her professional attire still pressed neatly without a wrinkle making her a stunning contrast to the wild surrounding her. However Stiles could tell by the pinch in her brow, the purse of her lips, and the stilted way she moved that Lydia Martin was shaken by the display in front of her.

She gripped Stiles' arm tightly and pulled him off to the side. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you how important this case is, Mr. Stilinski," she grit out, her eyes still raking over the lifeless body near them. Stiles shook his head. "Good. We need to catch whoever this us and fast. I won't be able to contain Hale for long and while I understand his motivation he could end up doing more harm than good." Stiles nodded and Lydia heaved a hitched sigh, her own eyes tearing up just slightly. "This is one of our own, Stiles. Even if she wasn't a cop she was one of ours. It shouldn't have happened."

"I'll get them Lyds, I promise." Lydia nodded sharply once, shook her head and took a deep breath.

"Good. Get it done, Stilinski." She tromped off; a couple of uniformed cops trailing behind her. Scott and Stiles had stayed on the scene, Stiles looking over everything and not finding much. Laura's body was cold pale and while minimal scavenging had been done to her remains it was still obvious that she had been out in the preserve for hours, leaving the scene open to contamination from any wild animal that happened upon her. He was thankful she was clothed, that besides the bruising on her wrists the only other damage done to her had been the knife wound at her throat which had most likely been the cause of her death. She'd been left on her side, blood pooling onto the leaves beneath her and clotting into her dark hair, her hazel eyes open and empty.

There was no evidence of drag which and her attire was casual meaning she probably had met her attacker at the sight. He wondered if she knew her attacker, wondered what she had been doing back in Beacon Hills, wondered if Derek had known. They left the scene soon after they bagged her up, piling the bloodied leaves into evidence bags, techs toting heavy cases behind the procession of cops that carried her away. Stiles watched and wondered if perhaps she had come from Hale house after all.

Scott went back to work soon after, hugging Stiles tight and telling him he'd meet up at the Psych office later to go over theories and maybe probe Stiles' mind for clues that he perhaps had overlooked in the contained chaos after Lydia's departure. He climbed into his jeep and pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, pulling out his cell and pressing his speed dial. The call connected a minute later and Stiles let out a shaky breath at the sound of his father. "What is it, kiddo?" Stiles could hear the crinkling of a bag, most likely chips, and the low murmur of the television in the background.

"They found a body this morning in the woods," Stiles began softly and he could tell that his father was already sitting tense and alert due to the slight hitch in his throat over the phone.

"I heard. They identify it?" Stiles nodded though he knew his father couldn't see it and pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath. "Who was it Stiles?"

"It-" his breath hitched and he exhaled harshly, squeezing his eyes shut. "It was Laura, Dad. Laura Hale." His father cursed over the line, sighing deeply on his end as Stiles pressed his forehead against the leather of the steering wheel once more.

"Derek?"

"Don't know. I haven't talked to him, Lydia made him leave the crime scene pretty soon after Scott and I got there. She's already taken him off the case." His dad grunted over the line and Stiles leaned back into his seat before clipping his seat belt in and starting up his jeep.

"Good. I know he'll hate it but it's better that he's out now. Him being involved would only serve to contaminate any evidence collected against the perp. No judge would accept evidence from him. It would throw the entire case in jeopardy." Stiles huffed in agreement as he slowly backed out of his space and turned onto the street.

"That's basically what Lydia said."

"She may be very young for her position but she's smart. I've always said that." Stiles gave a soft laugh. "She already bring you on?"

"Yeah. I get the feeling this is an all hands on deck kind of deal."

"Good," his father said roughly and Stiles wondered that if it had been somebody else, somebody they hadn't known and come to call their own if his father would be so adamant about him taking on the case considering his dislike for Stiles' need to pretend. "You get them son, you get her justice." Stiles choked back another breath, not willing to call it a sob though his throat tightened and his eyes stung. He exhaled harshly through his nose and turned into the parking lot outside the small strip mall where his and Scott's detective agency was located.

"Yeah Dad, I'll get 'em." He heard his father nod in reply and he sat silently in his jeep for a moment, listening to his dad breath and knowing he'd never hear Laura do it again. His father sighed softly and Stiles wished for a moment he was at his childhood home just so he could have his dad's arms around him and burry his head in his dad's shoulder for just a little while, to get that comfort that always made him feel better even during the worst of times.

"Love ya, kiddo. Come home when you can."

"Love you too, Dad." Stiles whispered, ending the call shortly after. He pressed his palms to his eyes and rubbed away any moisture that lingered before getting out of his jeep and heading into the _Psych_ office. He could mourn after he caught the murderer.

He shouldn't have been surprised to find Derek Hale already waiting for him, standing in the middle of the main room with his arms crossed over his chest, his suit jacket discarded, the first few buttons of his collared button down undone, tie missing, and gun holster with gun tucked and snapped inside proudly on display. His face was hard, hazel-green eyes tinged slightly red, and lips pulled downward into a frown. He stepped forward into Stiles' space immediately, crowding close and glaring harshly. "I don't like you." Stiles stepped back only to have Derek advance again.

"You didn't have to come all the way out here to tell me that. How did you get in here anyway? You know breaking and entering is still against the law, even for head detectives?" Stiles tried to joke and failed as the frown and crease between Hale's eyebrows deepened. Derek's nostrils flared and his lips pursed as he continued to glare down at Stiles even though he stood only an inch or two taller.

"I don't like you and I think you being a psychic is absolute bullshit. You're a liar and a cheat and I don't know how you've managed to fool everyone or how you managed to get your dad, _the fucking ex-sheriff_, to play along-" he paused and Stiles bit his lip to keep from retaliating like he usually would have. "But you're good. I know you're good. I freaking watched you grow up so I know you can catch this bastard, whoever it is." Stiles nodded softly and Derek huffed, taking a step back while he gave a harsh singular nod of his head. Stiles reached out from him, fingertips grazing over the skin of Derek's arm before the other man stepped further away, shaking his head. "Just find them Stiles." He pressed a key to Stiles' chest and stalked out, hands folded tightly into fists once more.

The slam of the front door made Stiles jump and he looked down at the key Derek had given him, a spare key to the front door that Derek had no doubt made back when Stiles first took on the lease. He gave a soft smile, rubbing the warm metal between his fingers before he slipped it into his pocket and made his way to his desk. It would be a little while until Scott got off from his other job and joined him so Stiles cleared his desk, rolling out a sheet of blank paper before biting off the cap of a marker and recreating a map of the preserve. He marked off the entrances, important landmarks such as the old Hale house, and the crime scene. He sat and starred, his eyes roaming over the map as he tried to think of something, anything to give him a lead. He had a case to solve, a murderer to catch, and a friend to put to rest.

He fisted his hand in his pocket, fingers pressed against the metal of the spare key once more and thought of the red tinge to Derek Hale's eyes. There was work to be done.

* * *

**A/N: **Hope you all enjoyed the first chapter and my first foray into the world of Teen Wolf. Why I decided my first go at it would be a Psych fusion I'm not sure other than that Stiles and Derek really seem to fit into the roles of Shawn Spencer and Carlton Lassiter. I ended up trying to keep to really fuse the two worlds together, to take Teen Wolfs dark edge and merge it into the world of Psych. We'll see how it goes. Feedback is greatly welcomed.

As of now I plan on updating this fic every other Sunday (despite today being a Wednesday - I teach high school and today was a snow day) but hopefully as the story progresses and I get back into the habit of writing and work at the same time I'll be able to close the gap to once a week updates. :) Hope to have you all back for the next chapter on 2/2/14!


	2. Triskelion

Frustration was not a word that Stiles knew well. Or at least it had been purged of his lexicon the moment he turned his jeep west and didn't look back. Stiles had led a charmed life, had moved city to city, state to state whenever the mood took him. Whenever a moment of frustration came upon him Stiles knew it was time to move onto the next town. He couldn't move this time, couldn't up and leave, couldn't disappoint and hurt the people in his life because he had those now; people he loved, and people who depended on him.

He couldn't see it though, couldn't pick out the thing that would show him the killer or at least point him towards the next clue. He pulled at his hair and looked over the reconstructed crime scene on his desk. He needed photos; he needed to look at the body. He needed for Laura to not be dead.

Stiles closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temple, hoping to trigger something in his mind. There was always a clue, always something left behind. Stiles just had to find it. He pictured her form, her body situated on her stomach, face turned to the side, and her hair splayed out like a dark halo. Her eyes were open, blank, and endless. She knew her killer, of that much Stiles was certain. No way Laura Hale went out by herself into the preserve unless she felt safe. She was too smart to meet someone unknown in a place like that. Stiles opened his eyes and frowned. Did that mean it was someone she loved? Someone she trusted?

Stiles grunted. Laura was popular, always had been. She was pretty and sociable unlike her surly younger brother. She had tons of friends, plenty of people she still kept in contact with in Beacon Hills despite her living across the country. Family wise all she had left were Derek and Peter. Derek obviously didn't do it, was too protective of the little family he had left. Besides he was one of the hardest cops around, followed the law to a T. Peter had been left in a coma after the fire, suffering from burns that had scarred one side of his face so badly that he was almost unrecognizable. There had been a few times in the past couple of months when it seemed he was coming out of it, times when his brain activity was flying off the charts but he still hadn't done it, still hadn't woken up though Derek had sat at his beside for days afterwards just waiting, ready to be the first thing his uncle saw after the fire that had robbed them of everything.

Could someone have followed her from New York? What had Laura been doing in Beacon Hills and why had Derek not known she was there? Had it been a surprise? Stiles thought of the possible reasons but Derek's birthday wasn't for another few months and as far as he knew there weren't any other events that would warrant her return to Beacon Hills, especially without her husband and baby girl. Stiles frowned. He needed to find out why Laura was back in town. If he could figure that out, Stiles was sure it would lead him to who killed her.

The front door to the office opened, the bell overhead ringing softly at the entrance. Scott skidded into the room, his chest heaving as if he had run all the way from Deaton's four blocks away. Stiles opened his left hand drawer and grabbed the inhaler there, tossing it to Scott across the room. "Breath buddy, you're no good to me dead." Scott nodded and took a pull from his inhaler, his nostrils flaring as he breathed deep. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," Scott gasped, pulling another deep breath. "Yeah thanks. Allison called. Coroners report came back." Stiles nodded and stood up from his desk, his fingers carding through his hair in an attempt to tame it. Scott starred down at the reconstructed crime scene and frowned. "Find anything?" Stiles shook his head.

"No. There's something there but I just can't-" he cut himself off with a sigh and shrugged his shoulders. "I need to find out why she was here, why she was back. If I can figure that out, I'll know who did it. I'm sure that whatever she was doing back here is the reason why she's dead."

"Have you talked to Derek? Allison said he took off shortly after they got back." Stiles nodded and stared down at the doll that represented Laura.

"He was here when I got in."

"What did he say?" Scott asked and Stiles found himself shrugging in return, not quite willing to share what had happened with his best friend. For some reason, the idea of Scott knowing just how desperate Derek was to find Laura's murderer, enough to demand Stiles' best, rankled Stiles in a way that had him silently asking Scott not to push for a concrete answer. "That bad?" Stiles huffed and shook his head.

"It's nothing I couldn't handle, Scotty. He just-" Stiles pursed his lips and shook his head. "It was Laura, Scott."

"I know."

"She was all he had," he added as if to defend Derek for something he hadn't even done. He hadn't hurt Stiles, hadn't raged or yelled or taken his anger and sorrow out on him. And if he had, Stiles would have gladly taken it. Because that's what friends did, even if Derek was adamant that they were not friends.

"That's not true," Scott replied softly.

"Peter doesn't really count!" Stiles exclaimed, his brows furrowing together in confusion and anger on Derek's behalf. Stiles knew Scott wasn't a fan of Derek, that he blamed him for Stiles leaving in the first place which was ridiculous, but that didn't change the fact that he had lost the only family he had left and the most empathetic person Stiles knew seemed to want to deny that fact and thus the hurt Derek had to be feeling. Scott frowned and shook his head as he pulled Stiles to him into a hug.

"That's not true because he has you, even if he never admits it. He's got you Stiles and let me tell you that's a lot." Scott pulled back and gave a small smile. "Trust me dude, I know. You're the one who got me through my dad leaving. You'll help Derek through this even if we don't find out who did it."

"I don't want to find out just for Derek," Stiles returned with a frown. "She was my friend too."

"I know." Scott sighed and Stiles rubbed at his eyes, feeling the exhaustion from the rollercoaster of emotions weighing down heavily on him. "You wanna save the coroner for tomorrow?"

"Nah, man." Stiles replied with a shake of his head. "It's only four and I honestly won't be able to sleep if I don't find something." Scott nodded and started for the door, Stiles trailing closely behind. He cast one last glance at his desk, at the doll with the dark hair and wondered how if at all he could get Derek through this, through the loss of yet another loved one. He had a horrible feeling that the worst part had yet to come.

Stiles hesitated at the door to the morgue, Scott bumping up behind him. He could see the coroner, Finstock, through the small window walking about the room, his hands making quick, sharp gestures as he talked. The idea that Laura was lying on a cold metal slab made Stiles shiver and he wondered briefly why he found himself so hesitant to enter when he had seen her laid out on the leaf covered ground of the preserve just hours before. Scott nudged him softly and Stiles gathered his wits and entered, Scott following close behind.

Allison was standing at Laura's feet, her eyes flickering over the body as she listened intently to whatever Finstock was saying. Vernon Boyd, another detective of the BHPD, stood to her left and Sheriff Lydia Martin next to him. Derek was nowhere to been seen. "Stilinski! What are you doing here?" Finstock cried once he noticed the psychic detective.

"He's been hired as a consult, Finstock." Lydia replied, one fine eyebrow rising slightly as if to dare Finstock to challenge her.

"Hey, it's your call Sheriff. I just didn't think Hale would like him here considering," he faded off and gestured to the body in front of him as Stiles frowned.

"Detective Hale knows all about Stiles being on the case so if you could please continue."

"Sure thing." He shot a look at Stiles and continued, pointing to parts of Laura's body as he did so. "She put up a good fight, you can see from the bruising around her wrists and on her arms which occurred perimortem. Her attacker came at her straight on. There are also slashes on her hands where she tried to block her attackers blows." He made a slashing movement with his arm, as if reenacting the encounter. "It's the cut to her neck that killed her, slashed through her carotid artery. She bled out within minutes." Allison cursed softly under her breath as Boyd silently shook his head.

"She fought her attacker. Did she manage to scratch him?" Lydia asked. Stiles moved closer to the table to get a better look at her hands, now cleaned of blood. Her fingernails were pristine as well. He chewed on his lower lip and frowned.

"She might have but whoever killed her knew what he was doing. Her fingers were cleaned. We swabbed for particulates of course but I highly doubt we'll get anything like DNA," Finstock replied. Lydia pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed in on Stiles from across the table.

"Well Stilinski? Do you have anything?" Stiles looked up at her and then back down at Laura, her skin already pale and void of color, lips grey and eyes dark.

"She knew them. Whoever did this." Allison nodded but Lydia looked unimpressed as if she had known that factoid already. "I don't just mean that she was familiar with them, Sheriff. I mean she _knew _them. Laura is… was smart. She was also ridiculously strong, could take out Derek easy in a fight." Stiles thought back to when he was sixteen, watching Derek and Laura duke it out on old gym mats his dad had dragged into the garage for work out and training purposes. Laura always got Derek flat on his back within ten minutes.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Finstock asked, his brows furrowed together in confusion and possibly annoyance. Stiles rolled his eyes and glared at the older man.

"It means that on top of it being someone she knew, this person also had to be pretty strong. Laura got as much training as Derek did when it came to fights and subduing perps. Dad had her on track to becoming a cop too."

"Or it means that whoever did this caught her off guard," Boyd pointed out quietly. "If she trusted this person enough to meet him out in the woods alone, she probably didn't think he would come out armed with the intent to kill her." Stiles shook his head as he looked at the bruising on her arms, large purple fingers that wrapped the circumference and pressed deep into muscle and skin.

"No. I don't think so. It wasn't just being off guard. It was more." Lydia sighed and pinched at the bridge of her nose.

"Is there anything else you can tell us?" she asked, looking once more at the coroner. Finstock nodded and shuffled down the side of the table as he pulled the white sheet down, exposing Laura's torso to them. The T-shaped incision made Scott gag next to Stiles and made Stiles' eyes burn.

"One other thing. It seemed our killer wanted to leave a message. They carved this symbol into her hip on the left side here. These cuts were made postmortem," he said softly, pointing towards the neatly scored flesh. Allison gasped, Boyd's nostrils flared, Lydia's eyes narrowed, and Scott made a soft whimper behind him. "I don't know what it is but I assume from all your reactions, you guys do." Stiles stared at the three interlocked spirals. He thought of a larger version inked onto Derek Hale's back.

"Has Hale seen this?" Lydia asked, her voice soft but harsh. Finstock's eyes widened and he tore his gaze away from the mark to look at the Sheriff.

"Yeah. He was in here 'bout ten minutes before you. Come to think of it, he took off pretty quick when he saw that." Lydia cursed and turned towards Boyd, her hands held stiff at her sides as she quietly gave him instructions. He nodded sharply before bounding out the door. Scott gaped after him and Allison turned on Lydia, frowning.

"You can't think-" she began and Lydia cut her off, motioning Finstock to cover Laura once more with the sheet.

"No, Argent. I don't. However it seems obvious to me that this is one clue that Hale might have more insight to than any of us and that seeing that mark might have sent him off to do something incredibly stupid like put this entire case in jeopardy. We need to find him before something like that happens." Allison nodded and quickly disappeared out the door as well. Lydia turned to Stiles and glared.

"Now would be a good time to get some answers from those spirits of yours, Stilinski." Stiles bit his lip and nodded, eyes still trained on Laura's hip, still tracing the delicate lines of the spirals even though they were now covered. Lydia sighed, shook her head, and swept out of the morgue, her heels clicking loudly in her wake.

"Stiles? What are you thinking?" Scott asked. Finstock grumbled under his breath and left as well, leaving Scott and Stiles alone.

"The triskelion was a really important symbol to them," Stiles muttered, frowning. Scott frowned in confusion as well. "The Hales," Stiles clarified. He moved around the table and grabbed a pair of latex gloves, quickly blowing into each to stretch them out before putting them on. He pulled back the sheet once more and Scott grimaced, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"Dude!" he exclaimed and Stiles motioned him over to his side of the table and he gently lifted Laura's body up, turning her onto her side.

"What's strange is why the killer felt the need to carve that into her."

"What are you doing?" Scott hissed though he still made his way to stand next to Stiles. "Are you even allowed to do that?" Stiles rolled his eyes and jerked his chin at Laura's back. The tattoo was smaller than Derek's and delicate in a way that Derek's harsh black lines weren't.

"They got them together, right after the fire, remember? Derek had been staying with us until Laura could get the courts to let her have custody. Dad had been furious because they were gone the entire day." Scott nodded as Stiles gently laid her back down and covered her up once more.

"I forgot that he had lived with you for a while."

"We were pretty young," Stiles said, shrugging his shoulders. "And he was only with us for like a month. Dad managed to pull some weight with the judge, ended up as a personal reference for Laura during the case. Besides, Mom got sick soon after." Scott nodded, his frown deepening.

"What does it mean?" he asked and Stiles shook his head slowly as his mind tried to work through the new information. Why would someone carve the same symbol into her skin that she already had permanently inked there?

"Shit," he cursed. Scott's eyes widened at the profanity and he slowly reach out, grasping Stiles' shoulder in his palm. "What if it was a message?"

"A message to who?" Scott asked. Stiles chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes once more trailing the still form of Laura Hale's body, hidden by a white sheet, covering her from head to toe.

"Think about it Scott. The fire. Every Hale dead except for three." Scott shook his head and dropped his hand.

"I thought they ruled it an accident." Stiles nodded and crossed the room, needing the space to pace back and forth, his thoughts flying faster than he could think them.

"Dad has always said there had been something off about that fire. It was an old house but Laura swore that her parents had had the wiring checked out earlier that year cause of the fact that they were finishing their basement, turning it into a game room or something for the kids." Scott nodded and Stiles closed his eyes, fingers pressing at his temples once again. "The fire had originated from the basement, Scott, and the Hales couldn't get out of the house. Why couldn't they get out of the house?"

"So what your saying is…" Scott began slowly, looking at Stiles with wide eyes, worry clouding his features as he watched his friend pace back and forth. Stiles came to a stop and gripped at his hair, his own gaze sharpening on Scott across the room.

"Derek." He breathed. Derek Hale was in trouble.

Stiles beat his fist against the steering wheel as he clenched his teeth, Scott's tiny voice informing him that Allison and Boyd still hadn't managed to track Derek down. Apparently he had turned off his phone and wasn't driving his cruiser making it currently impossible for Danny, the BHPD's tech guru, to track him down. His apartment was empty and he wasn't at any of his local haunts. Lydia had pulled Allison back in to work the case but Boyd was tasked to continue searching for the wayward detective. Stiles thanked Scott softly for the update before chucking the phone into his passenger seat. Stiles had already tried Derek's apartment, the one bar Derek frequented, his gym, and the cemetery where his family's plots sat, old flowers placed over graves that meant it had been a couple days since he had last visited.

Stiles had frowned when he had passed his own mother's tombstone, had ran his fingers across the weathered granite and mumbled a soft sorry before hurrying back to his jeep to check out the next possible spot. The sun had set and the moon hung full in the sky as Stiles closed his eyes and tried to think of where else Derek would go. He pressed his forehead to the steering wheel and breathed in deep, exhaling slowly and repeated the process a few more times.

Part of him knew it was a long shot, the theory that whoever had killed Laura had been the same person to set fire to the Hale's house all those years ago. It had been nearly twenty years ago and officially the case had been ruled an accident. If it had been the same person, if his father had been right in stating that the Hale fire had been arson, then why had the killer waited so long to finish the family off?

Stiles grimaced and closed his eyes; rubbing his forehead against the worn leather as if the movement could somehow shift his thoughts into the correct order, make the answers to his questions easier to see. One thing was certain; the triskelion carved into Laura's hip was a message and Stiles was sure it had been meant for Derek. Which meant that Derek was in trouble and the fact that he was missing had Stiles gripping his steering wheel a little bit tighter and his breaths coming from him in harsh pants. Derek wasn't allowed to die yet. Stiles still had to convince him of his psychic awesomeness, and of his awesomeness in general. Stiles still had to…

No. Nope. Stiles was not going there. Because Derek wasn't going to die, because he wasn't missing, because Stiles just needed to find him. Then they could catch the killer, send him off to jail, solve Laura's murder and possibly the Hale fire case which was technically closed but Stiles was sure could be re-opened, and Stiles could slap Derek across the head for being an asshole who apparently couldn't be bothered to realize that he still actually had people that cared for him.

Stiles sat back and started up the jeep once more, the engine turning over and rumbling to life. He carefully backed out of the spot in front of the _Psych_ office, a measly guess that had panned into nothing when it had been empty and dark. He turned onto the main road and made his way towards the preserve and the condemned Hale house, the last place Derek could have possibly chosen to go. There had been a short period, after the fire and before Derek had joined the academy, where Derek had spent days roaming the old house, scaring teens off the property, and sleeping on the floor of his parent's old bedroom. Stiles' dad had found him there after a week and had ushered him back home to Laura who had moved them across country to New York for a new start. It had been a surprise when Derek had returned a few years later, joined the academy, and began hanging out at the Stilinski household in hopes of learning a few things from then Sheriff Stilinski. According to both Stiles' father and Derek himself, he hadn't been back since.

He parked the jeep a few feet from the front door and made his way slowly up the dilapidated porch, his sneakers shuffling softly against the wood, dirt, and dust. The door opened with a slight nudge and Stiles carefully made his way into the main foyer. Moonlight filtered in from the broken windows and the back of the house where the walls had been burned away, leaving the house open to the elements. Dust, dirt, and leaves littered the blackened floors. Off to the left a ratted couch sat lopsided, missing a few cushions, and a coffee table sat tipped over next to it.

The wind rustled outside, making the house creak and groan with it. Stiles frowned and moved about the first floor but couldn't find a single trace of Derek. He cursed and made his way back to the foyer. He hesitated only a moment before he began the slow trek up the stairs, taking his time and feeling carefully for any weaknesses. Last thing he wanted was to end up like Cordelia Chase with a pipe sticking through his stomach because ran up the stairs too fast.

He made his way to the second floor and sighed before turning down the hall to the left where the master bedroom would be. He frowned when he pushed the door open and found it empty. "Damn it Derek. Where are you?"

Stiles closed his eyes and slid down the side of the door jam, sitting down on the dusty floor and pressing his palms to his face as he tried to breath. The air was stale, his chest tightened, and the walls seemed to bend and bow. Stiles heaved another deep breath and gripped the sides of his head, closing his eyes to the spin of the room. Closing his eyes seemed to only make the spinning worse so Stiles opened them again and focused on a crack in the door jam, allowing his gaze to trace it as he counted his breaths, inhaling deeply and exhaling harshly, his breath wheezing from his throat.

Derek wasn't there, he wasn't at the Hale house, he was gone and Stiles feared waking up the next morning to discover another familiar body face down in the preserve, blood creating a macabre halo around him. He pulled out his phone and fumbled with the lock screen before finally starting the call. Static filled his ears as the phone rang on the other end of the line. He bit his lower lip and tried to breath through his nose, in and out, as the ringing continued. He faintly heard an answering ring a few feet off but couldn't help but dismiss it as static. "Come on you fucking asshole! Pick up your fucking phone!"

Footsteps sounded next to him and Stiles found himself dropping his phone to peer up at Derek Hale who stood next to him, his phone in his hand, and a frown pulling his lips down and his brows together. "Stiles?" Stiles surged upwards and wrapped his arms around him, fingers clamping onto his leather jacket and holding tightly as he panted into his collar, trying to catch his breath.

"You fucking asshole," he gasped and Derek shifted his phone back into his pocket before gripping Stiles' arms as if to pull him off. "You piece of shit. Why couldn't you answer your fucking phone?" Stiles pressed his nose to Derek's shoulder and breathed deep, squeezing his eyes shut at the burn that threatened angry and tired tears.

"Stiles," Derek said softly and this time he did pull at Stiles' arms but Stiles refused to loosen his grip and Derek sighed. "I'm fine, Stiles. I'm okay."

"No you're fucking not," Stiles replied petulantly and to his surprise Derek gave a soft, short, huff of laughter.

"No. I'm not." Stiles sniffled and tensed for a moment, his thumb sweeping across the warm leather of Derek's jacket before he stepped back, giving Derek's shoulder a weak shove as he wiped at his damp face with his other hand, knowing his face was most likely a splotchy, red, mess. "What are you doing here, Stiles?"

"Looking for you obviously. Lyds had almost the entire BHPD out for you!" Derek raised an eyebrow in disbelief and Stiles shrugged his shoulders as he shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the floor. "OK, not everyone but Boyd and Allison were along with Scott. And she had Danny trying to figure out your location through the GPS on your phone." Derek nodded and sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, his nostrils flaring.

He turned then and made his way towards the stairs, looking back at Stiles only once to make sure he was following, before he started out the door and down the porch. "You okay to drive?" he asked as he stood by Stiles' jeep.

"Yeah," Stiles replied with another shrug. "Why wouldn't I be?" Derek's frown deepened and his crossed his arms over his chest, staring Stiles down like a suspect he wanted to crack.

"I know it's been a while since you've had them but I remember the panic attacks, Stiles. And that," he paused, pointing back to the house behind them, "was one of them. So are you okay to drive or do you need me to take you home? Preferably to your father's house where he can keep an eye on you." Stiles clenched his teeth at the automatic response he had on the tip of his tongue, the demand to know when did Derek decide he cared. Instead, he took a deep breath and nodded his head.

"I'm good. The real question is are you? Should I be the one taking you to my dad's house so he can watch you?" Derek's eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. "Hey, I wasn't the one that disappeared for four freaking hours! Derek, Lydia thinks you know something."

Derek's eyes widened sharply and he took a step forwards, his hands dropping to his sides and clenched into fists. Stiles waited. Derek stayed silent and stared.

"Do you…" Stiles began. Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles shuffled his feet, his hands clenched in his pockets as he tried to think of a way to ask Derek the questions running through his mind without angering him or sending him running. "The symbol, the triskelion…" Derek stood tense and at attention once more, his eyebrow dropping and his frown carved deeper into his face. "It was a message, wasn't it."

"Yes," Derek bit out and Stiles found his own frown turning downwards to match Derek's.

"Why? Who?"

"I don't know," Derek grit out, as if it cost him something to admit it, that he didn't know why Laura was killed or who had done it or how it was related to the remaining Hales left. "That's why I need your help. I can't-" He growled, frustration making him tense and even more irritable than usual. "I can't have anything to do with this Stiles. I can't do a damn thing."

"I know, man. I'm sorry." Derek huffed and shoved his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped forwards as if the weight of the day had finally become too much to bear. Stiles stepped forward and nudged Derek's shoulder with his own. "Come on. You shouldn't be alone tonight." Derek frowned, his nose crinkling in disgust as he grunted negatively at Stiles who was making his way to the driver's side of the jeep. "Oh! Not like that, asswipe! I wouldn't touch all that with a ten foot pole!" Stiles quickly replied, hand flailing as if to encompass all of Derek Hale's being. Derek raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Sure, Stilinski. Whatever you say," he huffed but he pulled the passenger side door open and climbed into the cab. Stiles followed suit and shook his head, slotting his key into the ignition and patting the steering wheel lighting when the engine turned over with a low groan.

"I'll have you know I got over my little school boy crush of you a long time ago, buddy. Now I find you quite repulsive," Stiles stated matter-of-factly. Derek turned his attention towards the window, watching the trees pass and lessen until they were once more out on the main road headed towards the residential area of town. He hummed an affirmative though it was one that sounded as if he was just trying to placate Stiles rather than one that actually believed him. Still, the corner of his lips were quirked upwards in a small smirk, as if he had forgotten for a moment the morning he had woken up to, the loss he had suffered, and the questions that demanded answers. As if it were ten years ago and Stiles was still the seventeen-year-old kid that had a crush on the rookie cop.

Stiles turned onto the road for his dad house, mentally cataloging the things he would need to do and set up for the impromptu sleep over. He counted the smirk as a win.

* * *

**A/N:** Yay chapter two is done! I'm trying to keep each chapter around 5k to give you guys some nice, in depth reading. I hope the backstory that's emerging isn't too confusing. I do have a mind to write a oneshot that's set before this- a more in depth look at how Derek and Laura became close to the Stilinski family and exactly why Stiles chose to leave Beacon Hills when he was eighteen. We'll see.

Anyways, next update is set for 2/16 currently. Depending on how my week goes (getting more snow tomorrow apparently- I am so done with snow) I might try for 2/9 (next sunday) instead. Hope you enjoyed and see you with the next installment soon!


	3. 1994

Stiles had to admit there were times when sleeping in his childhood bedroom did make him feel as if he were sixteen years old again. Posters of bands stolen from the one small basement venue in Beacon Hills and pictures of the small close knit group of friends that he had put up when he was in high school still covered the walls, moments of life frozen and on display to see made it easy for Stiles to close his eyes and pretend for a few minutes that he was sixteen; the most stressful thing in his life his difficulty in hiding his wayward lust for Derek Hale from the man himself instead of trying to find his sister's murderer.

The added reality of Derek Hal being just down the hall in the guest room only furthered the impulse to fall back into twelve year old memories. Stiles stared up at his ceiling and sighed. It had been a long time since Stiles had slept somewhere with Derek under the same roof (though never in the same room) and Stiles could easily remember his younger self trying to keep quiet under the sheets as he poured over countless fantasies all revolving around the idea that Derek just might find him and possibly join in.

Stiles couldn't help but chuckle at himself, at the realization that somehow the desire to do just that had begun to burn low in his gut and had his fingers making trails through the dark coarse hair that linked his navel to his groin. Pathetic was what it was and Stiles wondered if he'd ever get over the idea of Derek freaking Hale. Even the brutal death and subsequent discovery of Derek's sister didn't seem enough to curb his libido. Stiles quickly added 'disgusting' to the growing list of new adjectives he could use to describe himself in his mind.

A knock on the door shook him from his thoughts and Stiles sat up in his bed before he called out an affirmative, allowing whoever knocked to enter. "Hey kiddo," his dad said softly as he opened the door. Stiles folded his legs to sit cross-legged as his father took a seat on the edge of his bed. "How are you holding up?"

"Okay I guess. You?" His father smiled sadly and shrugged his shoulders. "Have you talked to Derek?"

"Briefly," he paused, gaze shifting towards Stiles' open bedroom door. "He's never been very talkative and I'm worried that losing his sister will make him close off even more." Stiles nodded and frowned. His father patted his knee. "You did good bringing him here, Stiles. He needs to be around people he knows care about him."

"Well it wasn't really hard," Stiles replied with a shrug.

"I'm sure it wasn't." His father raised an eyebrow and stood up, making his way towards the door. "Don't stay up too late. You've got a lot of work cut out for you and despite what you may look like, you're not in fact sixteen anymore."

"I don't know whether I should talk that as an insult or a compliment but I'm pretty sure I don't look like I'm sixteen. Because if I do then I'm attracting some pretty creepy people." His father waved him off and closed the door behind him.

Stiles flopped back down on his bed and returned his gaze once more towards the ceiling. It had been too long a day and while Stiles' body ached with the need for sleep, his muscles feeling loose and sore, his mind seemed content to race through every thought, question, and fact that had flittered through it earlier. He clenched his eyes shut and willed his mind to shut down, briefly considering taking an extra dose of adderall just to calm his mind down. He wondered if Derek was facing a similar situation down the hall or if he had managed to fall asleep the moment his head had touched the pillow. He wondered what dreams would plague him in the night, wondered if Derek would end up seeing Laura there as often as Stiles saw his mother. Stiles hoped for both their sakes that their dreams kept away.

The smell of bacon was what Stiles awoke to in the morning. He shuffled out of bed and across the hall to the bathroom to empty his bladder and wash his face before following the smell downstairs to the kitchen. His father stood over the stove, spatula in one hand and coffee mug in the other. Bacon and eggs sizzled together in a pan and Stiles raised a disproving eyebrow at his father, knowing that even if he shamed him out of eating the bacon itself he would still benefit from the bacon grease mixed into the scrambled eggs. He frowned and shook his head. "I hope this isn't a regular thing for you," Stiles said, motioning at the pan as he pulled out a coffee mug of his own.

The ex-sheriff rolled his eyes and nudged the eggs in the pan. "You know exactly what is a regular thing here so don't even. Besides, you're one to talk," he said, pointedly eyeing the mug of caffeine situated in Stiles' hands. Stiles turned his newly filled mug away as if to hide it.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He took a sip, burned his tongue, and grinned. His father rolled his eyes yet again while Stiles turned around and leaned back against the counter, watching him prepare breakfast, as his mug warmed his hands. "Has he been up yet?" Stiles asked, nodding towards the open archway that led to the foyer and stairs. His dad sighed and shook his head.

"Haven't heard a peep. However it's Derek so…" he trailed off, widening his eyes and lifting his brows before shrugging his shoulders.

"So it's possible he crept out while we were asleep," Stiles nodded and shifted his weight from one foot to another, the side of the counter sliding along his lower back.

"Go ahead, see if he's still here. If he is, he needs to get up anyway."

Stiles frowned. "Why? It's not like he has to go to work. Pretty sure Lyds wants him on leave right now." His father frowned at the use of Stiles' nickname for the new Sheriff and shook his head.

"It's important that he tries to keep to his normal routine, Stiles. Deviating from it right now could do more harm than good." Stiles nodded and set his mug down on the counter, reaching out to pat his father's back before exiting the kitchen and making his way up the stairs.

The door was closed when he reached it, faint light from the windows inside seeping through the crack under it. Stiles pressed his ear to the door and listened, hoping for something to let him know that Derek was still there, safe within the walls of his father's house. He found his could only hear the soft inhale and exhale of his own breath. He sighed and stepped back, giving the door a soft knock. There was no answer. He knocked a second time and called Derek's name. A muffled grunt answered through the door and Stiles found himself thumping his forehead against the door in relief. "Time to get up. Dad's almost done making breakfast." He turned his ear towards the door and frowned when no answering grunt sounded through. "Derek?" He slowly pressed the door open, the knob turning easily in his grip.

Messy dark hair stuck out from under white sheets, the mass of Derek's body hidden from view. A grumble made its way out from under the mound and Stiles sighed, crossing the short distance to the bed to reach under the sheets and pull at Derek's ankle. "Come on dude. Up and at 'em."

"No," Derek growled, pulling his ankle out of Stiles' grasp and his legs up as if curling himself into a tighter ball would make him unnoticeable. Stiles sat down on the end of bed and pulled at the comforter, Derek kicking out in retaliation as he pulled the comforter back in place at his shoulders, nearly knocking Stiles off the bed.

"Really?" Stiles groused, flailing slightly before regaining equilibrium. He turned towards Derek, legs crossed and elbows rested on knees, his palms holding his head up as he stared at the older man. "You know if you don't get up my dad's just going to physically haul you out himself, right?" Derek scoffed and raised an eyebrow in disbelief as he glared at Stiles from under the sheet. Stiles only frowned and stared back. "You know I'm right. He's done it before."

"To you," Derek grunted, nudging Stiles once more with his feet. "Get out. I'll come down later." Stiles shook his head and wiggled his hips, shaking the bed and Derek as he did so.

"Nope. Even though I am an adult and no longer living under his roof, my dad still holds power over me and reminds me of it every day. If I don't go back downstairs with you in tow he'll punish me and I am a-okay with admitting that he scares me more than you do. So…" Stiles trailed off and pulled at the comforter once more, grinning when it slipped easily from Derek's grasp and ended up bundled in his lap, leaving Derek's skin open to the elements of the room, the pale expanse of his chest breaking into goose bumps. He chuckled and blushed when the absent covering revealed Derek in only his boxers, his hazel eyes narrowed and squinting at the light, his lips turned downwards in a confused frown, and his stubble thick and heavy on his face.

Derek grunted and pushed himself up off the bed, rolled his neck and made his way to the dresser where his clothes from the previous day sat. Stiles huffed a breath and fell back onto the bed, comforter bundled up on top of him, and stared at the ceiling, averting his gaze from the other man in the room, and the large triskelion inked onto his back.

He stayed there for minutes, listening to the rustle of fabric as Derek got dressed and wondered how a man who claimed to hate Stiles felt comfortable enough to turn his back on him and change as if it was nothing, as if he normally let Stiles putter around in his space instead of glaring him out of the room like he would have twelve years ago. He heard a grunt and turned his head to find Derek staring at him, lips pursed, brows furrowed, freshly dressed, and arms crossed over his chest. "You coming? I smell bacon and knowing your dad he's probably already eaten half of it."

Stiles grinned and shoved the comforter off his chest, bounding off the bed as if he was five years younger and out into the hallway, passing Derek with a hearty slap on his ass and grinning like a loon as Derek cursed and followed him down the stairs, catching the younger man in a headlock as they skidded into the kitchen.

The table was already set, eggs, bacon, and toast already served and steaming mugs of coffee and cold glasses of OJ at each place while Stiles' father sat at the head of the table with the newspaper open in front of him. He raised his brows at both Derek and Stiles and shook his head, his smirk hidden behind the top of his newspaper as Stiles poked at Derek's side. Derek released him with a shove and a shake of his head before he sat down at the table but Stiles noticed his frown wasn't as severe as before.

He dropped into his own seat and immediately scooped the remaining bacon from his father's plate, grinning cheekily when his dad gasped in outrage and began to remind him how he'd eat any damn thing he pleased. For a while it was easy to pretend that things were normal, that Derek and Stiles had just happened by the elder Stilinski's house for breakfast, as they were wont to do. Stiles gave up a piece of bacon and joked with both Derek and his dad, downing his breakfast with gusto as Derek sat with his signature frown though he often shared small exasperated smiles with Stiles' father as if they could commiserate over the fact that it seemed Stiles was destined to act like a teenager for the rest of his life. Stiles' dad extracted a promise of fishing from Derek and one of cleaning out the garage from Stiles. Stiles was in mid-pout when his cell phone flashed to life, Lydia's picture flashing up on the screen.

He jumped up from the table and gave an apologetic grin before he quickly exited the room, answering the call with the swipe of his thumb and slotted the cell to his ear. "Hey Lyds!" he began, voice low so that neither his father nor Derek could overhear. "What's up?"

"Hale with you?" she asked without preamble.

"Yeah. Why?" Lydia sighed heavily over the phone and Stiles gripped it just a little bit harder. "What is it?"

"There's another body." Stiles cursed and turned back towards the kitchen, making sure that no one had followed him. He couldn't faintly hear the low tones of both his dad and Derek talking.

"What do you mean there's another body? And what the hell does that have to do with Derek?" he hissed.

"We found a bus driver stabbed to death in his assigned school bus this morning. It was parked in front of the damn high school." Stiles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "This is where your psychic abilities would could in handy, Stiles! Am I going to be finding any more bodies?"

"I don't know," Stiles replied softly. He sat down on the couch and closed his eyes. "You didn't answer my question, what does this have to do with Derek?"

"Calling him Derek now?" Lydia asked. Stiles could practically feel the raised eyebrows through the phone.

"Lydia," Stiles hissed and Lydia immediately sighed.

"The bus driver was Garrison Myers. He was the insurance investigator for the Hale fire case," Lydia replied softly and Stiles couldn't help the curse that burst forth from his once again. The soft discussion taking place in the kitchen faltered and Stiles could hear the screech of the chairs on the tiled floor as if someone was standing up. "There's something else Stiles. He had the same mark carved into the skin of his collarbone."

"Fuck, Lydia. You don't think…"

"That someone is cleaning up the mess they made twenty years ago and finishing off the Hales while they're at it? That's exactly what I think, Stiles."

"You wanna put Derek into protective custody," Stiles sighed and Lydia gave an obviously fake gasp over the fun.

"There's that psychic ability! Think you could put that to work in finding who's behind this, Stilinski?" Stiles hook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, tried to fight back the oncoming migraine that threatened to overtake him due to Lydia's obvious sarcasm.

"He's not going to like that."

"Not going to like what?" Stiles leapt up from the couch, surprised to find Derek leaning against the open archway of the living room, arms crossed over his chest. Stiles pursed his lips and shook his head.

"Is that Hale? Stiles put him on. He needs to hear this." Stiles frowned but held the phone out to Derek who slowly took the proffered device, frown deepening and eyes narrowing as he looked at Stiles.

"What is it?" Derek's voice was soft and his words precise. Stiles could vaguely hear Lydia's tinny voice respond, knew she was telling Derek everything she had just shared with Stiles. He watched as Derek's eyes left his face, as they bounced around the room, from the couch, to the mantel over the fireplace behind Stiles, to the TV. His free hand clenched into a fist and Stiles knew that Lydia had finally gotten to the part about putting Derek in protective custody when his eyes darkened.

"No." Lydia's voice was quiet on the other end from what Stiles could tell and his eyes widened when Derek's gaze met his. "I'm Head Detective, Sheriff. I am fully capable of protecting my damn self." Stiles frowned and Derek shook his head, as if to stop Stiles preemptively from whatever he had been about to say. Stiles narrowed his eyes and glared, crossing his arms over his chest. "No, you are not posting up a cruiser outside my damn house. You are not going to waste resources on me that would be better used in finding _my sister's killer_."

Derek didn't hear whatever else Lydia had to say as he passed the phone back to Stiles and turned back towards the kitchen. "Lydia," he said, cutting her off as he stared at Derek's retreating back, watching him turn into the kitchen and out of view.

"Convince him to do this, Stilinski. It's for his own damn protection." Stiles huffed a sarcastic laugh.

"What makes you think he'll listen to me?" Lydia sighed over the line once more, long-suffering and exasperated as if she couldn't understand just how dumb Stiles could be. "Fine. What if he stayed with my dad or me? That way the BHPD wouldn't be wasting any resources and he'll still be protected."

"Fine. Get him to agree to that and then get your ass over to the crime scene. See if you can get us something. I'm not paying you to snoop around and make guesses, Stiles. I want answers and I want them now." Stiles nodded and gave a soft affirmative before ending the call. He pressed his palms to his eyes and took a deep breath before he made his way back into the kitchen where he found his father had disappeared and Derek sat at the table with his head in his hands. Stiles coughed softly to announce his presence and took his seat once more at the table though he didn't move to touch the now cold food still left there.

"Dad?" he asked quietly and Derek grunted, nodding his head towards the garage.

"Said something about going into town, run a few errands." Stiles nodded and bit at his lower lip. "I know what you're going to say, Stiles, and like I told Lydia, the answer is no."

"Who says I was going to say anything?" Stiles said with an exaggerated frown. "I'm seriously wondering if this would still taste okay after I nuke it in the microwave or if it's a lost cause." Stiles picked up one side of the plate and let it drop back down onto the table with a soft clatter. Derek looked up at him and his brows once again expressed his disbelief. "What? I'm still hungry." Derek huffed a soft laugh and shook his head. Stiles sighed and leaned his arms against the table, eyes narrowing on the other man. "Okay, the truth is Lydia wants me to convince you to either stay here or with me while we're looking for whoever did this. She thinks-"

"I know what she thinks, Stiles," Derek said, cutting Stiles off as he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, closing himself off once more from Stiles. "And I can take care of myself." Stiles opened his mouth to try and change his mind but Derek shook his head and spoke again before he could. "I know you and your dad are worried but you guys forget I'm not the only Hale left."

"Peter," Stiles breathed, his eyes widening. Derek nodded and stood up, taking both his and Stiles' plates over to the sink.

"If she-" Derek paused and his lips thinned, his entire being tense as he stood at the sink before he released and turned on the water, pushing the remains of breakfast down the garbage disposal before stacking the dishes in the dishwasher as he continued. "If this person is here to clean up their mess, kill anyone involved with the fire and the cover up as well as finish us off, my first priority is keeping Peter safe." He turned back towards Stiles, leaning against the sink as he stared him down. "Yours is to find them. You find who's doing this, okay Stiles?" Stiles nodded, his frown deepening as Derek pushed off the counter and started towards the front door.

Stiles quickly pushed back his chair and followed him, reaching out and grabbing Derek's arm as the other man reached for his leather jacket. "Wait. You said she."

"What?" Derek froze, his arm tensing in Stiles' grip, his hazel eyes narrowed, daring Stiles to continue, to push.

"You have an idea, you _know_." Derek shook his head and pulled back but Stiles tightened his grip and pulled Derek closer. "You said she, Derek. I heard you and you're not brushing it off, you're fucking tensing on me man. Look at you." Derek bared his teeth as if to hiss and bowed his head, his hair falling into his eyes. "Just tell me. Come on, Der, it's _me_."

"It can't be her," Derek growled out as he wrenched his arm from Stiles' grip, pushing them through his leather jacket and tugging the lapels of it up, as if to shield himself from Stiles' questions and gaze. "It's not her Stiles so you can drop it. Find me something that's actually real." He reached for the door but Stiles slapped his hand away and shifted till he was pressed against it, blocking Derek's path.

"You want me to find out who did this then you need to tell me everything. Even if it's just a fleeting thought, you have to tell me."

"Aren't you supposed to be able to pluck this from my mind?" Derek hissed, stepping into Stiles' space, predator moving in on his prey to rip and shred.

"Don't, just fucking tell me Derek. Despite common belief, being a psychic does not mean I can read your damn mind." Derek's eyes closed and his nostrils flared, expelling a hot, frustrated breath as he took a step back, away from Stiles and his demands. His shoulders hunched forward and head bowed as Stiles cautiously stepped forward. "_Der, please_." Derek huffed a laugh but it was short, bitter.

"Her name's Kate. She'd be about 45 now. Tall. Blonde. Lived here about twenty years ago and was a substitute at Beacon Hills High for about six months from November 1994 till April 1995. That's all I know." He opened his eyes and refused to meet Stiles' gaze, his hands pushed into his pockets and his lips thinned into a straight line, face carefully blank.

"She got a last name?" Stiles asked softly and Derek shook his head.

"She went by a different last name. I'm positive it wasn't her real one." Stiles frowned and nodded and finally Derek's gaze settled once more one him. "Don't ask me why. I can't."

"Okay. I won't." Derek nodded and looked passed Stiles to the door behind him. Stiles stepped to the side and opened the door for him. He watched as Derek walked down the street and disappeared out of sight.

Stiles made it to the second crime scene within the hour, surprised to see students milling about on the front lawn instead of inside their classrooms. It was well after nine and Stiles knew for a fact that classes at Beacon Hills High started at seven twenty-five sharp. He squeezed between the blue barricade posts, nodding to the few blues he knew as he made his way towards the blocked off school bus. Blood spatters were visible on multiple windows, scanning the length of the bus, the emergency exit door at the back open. A pool of blood had spilled forth from the open door and onto the pavement, staining the blacktop a deep maroon.

Lydia stood at the back of the bus, a frown turning her perfectly made up face into one of anger and disappointment. Stiles quickly made his way to her, slightly out of breath as she turned toward him and raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. "Well?"

"Derek's going to be staying at the hospital with Peter. Doesn't want to leave him alone." Lydia groaned and rolled her eyes, smacking his shoulder with the back of her hand.

"And you didn't think to tell him I have someone already posted at his uncle's door?"

"Well you didn't tell me that!" Stiles said, his eyes widening almost comically. Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head.

"I shouldn't have to tell you that, Stiles. If I wanted to put someone on Hale himself, obviously I'd put one on his coma uncle." She shook her head and motioned towards the bus. "What do you see?"

"I see a blood bath," Stiles replied, a grimace curling his upper lip as he looked at the open door, the bloody handprints on the door and handle, the blood that had pooled on both the floor of the bus and the ground. "Our victim ran towards the back of the bus, didn't he. Didn't even try to block the blows, just ran." Lydia nodded.

"Ten stab wounds to his back, possible punctured lung. If he didn't drown in his blood, he bled out. Triskelion carved into his collar. Staff noticed the bus sitting here and the open door, called it in. We luckily arrived on the scene right before the buses started coming in."

"Body already at the morgue?" Stiles asked, leaning forward to step up onto the bumper of the bus to get a better look at the inside of the bus, hands covered by latex gloves he had stuffed into his hoodie pockets.

"Yeah. Weren't going to have the body here when kids were coming in. The damn bus is bad enough." Stiles nodded and looked over the seats, but besides some blood spatter from the stab wounds, there was nothing else. He jumped back down and pulled the gloves off with a snap as he looked over at the high school, at the students who stood off in groups, peering over heads and pointing fingers. "You get anything?"

"Besides the fact that our killer had some obvious anger over this guy but seemed to have respect for Laura's killing?" Lydia raised her brows and nodded for him to continue. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Look at this. There's blood everywhere, which yes could be explained by the victim trying to run away but he was stabbed ten times? Sounds like a lot of anger and hate for the dude. Now think of Laura's crime scene. How she was laid out, how little blood there was, the singular cut to her throat almost as if…" Stiles paused, his voice trailing off as he stared down at the pool of blood on the pavement by his feet. Almost as if the killer had loved Laura and hadn't wanted her to feel any pain, wanted it to be as quick as possible.

"Stiles?" Lydia prompted, her frown deepening and Stiles bit out a small laugh.

"That doesn't make sense," he whispered. He looked over at the woods behind them, the woods that covered the hills that surrounded Beacon Hills, the hills for which the town was named. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips, trying to think of why that would be. Whoever burned down the Hale house did so out of malicious intent. So why was Laura's murder so careful in comparison.

"Stiles!" Stiles' eyes snapped open and he looked over at Lydia who was frowning but no longer glaring at him. "You got something?" she asked softly. Stiles took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his first and second finger tapped at his temple.

"There's a woman. She was here? Spirits aren't so sure exactly when." Lydia frowned but nodded, motioning for him to continue when he opened his eyes to gauge her reaction. He thought of Derek and how tense he stood just a few hours before, how he seemed to force every word about Kate out of his own mouth. "The image is hazy but she's tall and blonde. Young and beautiful. The kind that turned heads." Stiles knew he was guessing but there had been tells Derek hadn't been aware of, signs that said the woman he had told Stiles about had been someone important, someone Derek had kept close to his chest for twenty years. "Her name begins with a C? No a K! Kate! Her name was Kate, the spirits are sure of it."

"You got anything else?" Lydia asked, obviously not impressed with Stiles' theatrics. He frowned and nodded, looking once more at the old brick building, the one that had been a safe place of learning, frustration, puberty, and friendship when he had been there. The place that had housed a predator who had gone after the Hales, and had possibly done it through a young and naive Derek Hale.

"Yeah. She worked here as a sub. Sometime in 1994, '95." Lydia's eyes widened.

"You mean this woman was here during the fire." Stiles nodded. "You mean like she might be the one behind the fire?" Stiles shrugged one shoulder and thought of Derek in his father's house, his head bowed and his gaze avoidant as if he had been ashamed. There was more behind Kate than what Derek had told him and Stiles had a sickening feeling he knew what. He nodded. "Alright. I'll get Argent to do some digging. She if she can find this Kate." Stiles nodded and hoped that by following the lead, he wasn't bringing the past Derek had obviously buried too quickly to the forefront. The last thing he wanted to do was cause the older man more pain. Especially if what he suspected was corrected. Especially if it meant that the mysterious Kate used Derek to kill the Hales.

* * *

**A/N: **Feedback is of course always welcome and appreciated. Next update is slated for next Sunday, 2/23, because I think I can do it and I want to. :) See if we can do once a week.

I had to admit, this is ending up a little bit more angst ridden than I had originally intended and I hope that doesn't throw anyone off. Trying to add a bit of humor to keep things from getting too dark his hard- it's amazing how Stiles (Dylan and the writers) does it on the show!

Anyways hope you all enjoyed and I'll see you with a new update next week!


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